


Month Off

by ASockAndEt



Category: Original Work
Genre: Existentialism, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-24 08:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30069465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASockAndEt/pseuds/ASockAndEt
Summary: Stressed, sick, and despondent, a young woman wishes for a month off and spends it in an inn run by supernatural creatures. What makes this place different from anywhere else? Work is work. Take it easy; relying on other people can be a relief.Usually updates Mondays





	1. The Place Over There

It's a peaceful town. It's so peaceful I can walk through these streets late at night without a care in the world and stumbling every step. My shoulder bag with just my phone, wallet, and a little notebook softly thumps at my side.

How many hours did I sleep last night and what shift do I have tomorrow? Or did I have class to attend instead? I'd have to check the calendar on my phone. Just staring at the time or the date on the lockscreen won't do anything for me.

My vision vibrates as I try to keep my eyes on the dim, empty streets ahead. But my squinting eyes always fall back to my feet as they step into and out of pools of light. The concrete doesn't feel certain beneath my soles like suddenly a hole will open up and swallow me whole.

A day off is in order. I just want to cancel everything and bear the consequences, whatever they may be. The urge wells up inside me like a wave threatening to throw me off my feet. But what if I fall into a whirlpool and never come back up?

It sucks but I need the money and I need the credits.

With more and more jobs going overseas and the acceptance rate for perfumery schools getting lower and lower, can I really just give up now?

Even if I don't go to a technical school, I still need to study the field, nearby companies, and the market. How else am I going to get hired and work my way up? It's only been six months since I decided my career path. I can't just laze around now. I can't afford to.

But maybe I do need that day off after all as I sway around the corner and catch a strange sight.

Just a short distance away, a cat snoozes atop a stone wall surrounding a little house. As its tail sways back and forth, it basks in sleepiness and the attention of what I assume is a man snapping pictures of it from every angle. I can't really tell because he looks like green and dark splotches in my vision.

But even from this distance, although he speaks softly, his comments are just audible in that happy voice, so light-hearted and relaxed. I want to describe it as refreshing and nostalgic.

"Cute, cute, you're so cute! The cats in this town are so relaxed. Tt's the best coming out to sleepy towns like this! Ah, you yawned again! You're so adorable!"

In time with his comments, a thin, silver tail with a pointed club end has slipped out from under his sweater and whips side and side. That and the small silver horns, like a devil's, peeping out of splotches of his hair are the clearest thing in my sight.

Is he cosplaying or is this man really a supernatural creature? Like a demon? But the way he acts makes him seem like more of an overexcited sheep dog than a cunning demon with a serpentine smile.

Am I so high on sleep deprivation that I'm hallucinating? Maybe hearing things too?

But I don't feel high. I feel like a dense fog is slowly taking up space in my head. At first, it was manageable; I could still keep track of work and school and home. Sometimes the fog would curl in just the wrong places so that I'd forget to call back my mother or turn in the wrong assignment. But now, if I hold my hand out, even my elbow disappears into darkness. I don't feel conscious of any of my body parts.

How long have I been on autopilot?

As soon as one thought appears, it's already been consumed by fog. Can I say I'm still 'me'? It feels like neither the brightest flashlight nor a deep sleep will do anything to wipe away the fatigue.

Even so, in that dense darkness, I can feel one thought squeeze out with all its might, presenting itself like a little beacon of light about to go out.

_"Did you hear this legend goin round, Peony? If you grab a devil's tail, you can make it grant you a wish. If it were me, I'd wish for a better boss!"_

It's been awhile since I thought about Poppy. I miss her but I don’t have the time to see her.

If I could make a wish…

"Even your yellow eyes are so pretty! I wonder if you'd let me pet you- YAAAAH!"

Because its silver color made me think it might be cool to the touch, it surprises me when the tail in my hand is warm. It shocks me enough that it isn't the yelp that shames me but remembering-

_Cats don't like their tails being touched...._

"I'm. Sorry if it's not true." My sentences become stilted, more like unfinished thoughts than sentences. I loosen my grip on the tail but I also don't let go. "I'll give you cat treats to make up. I just. Wanted a favor. Because I wanted a month off! From this place..."

I quickly lose steam, words shriveling in my mouth. It might be the first time in months since I'd raised my voice or felt my face heat up like this. I can't bring myself to look up at his face but he must be confused, even angry.

My heartbeat might be sluggish but I can feel the pulse rise in my neck. Maybe the exhaustion combined with the rising realization that I am being _so stupid_ right now is why my vision only blurs more. A dizzying feeling wrapping itself around my throat so that even my feet are nothing more than a splash of dull colors on a duller canvas.

"I'll give you cat treats. To apologize! I know where all the cats gather. So just forget about it-" I babble, fog and thought crowding my head. Slowly, my hand begins to loosen, fingers unclenching like rusty gears clunking along every tooth.

"W-well, you got me! I can't say no after all... I'll grant your wish!" The man's -devil's?- voice breaks through the clamor, high and panicked. For some reason, something about it rings false but that could just be my paranoia speaking.

"...Really?" The question stumbles out of my mouth even though it would serve me right if he's tricking me.

"Really! I promise I'll grant your wish! D-Devils can't break promises so you can let go of my tail! Uh- please!" Not a trace of anger, confusion, or disgust colors the man's tone. Why is he acting so nice when I'm literally assaulting him?

I let go of his tail, still unsure if he was lying or not. To be honest, I want to run.

The devil hops back a few steps and the blotches of his form wiggle a little. Is he hiding his tail under his sweater? Good idea...

Even if he is lying, I shouldn't be relying on other people to begin with. Why should I get to escape, get extra time to think about what I'm doing and why, when so many other people have to figure out their life while living it-

"Um, I do have an idea of where you can go but a month... is..." Go ahead and tell me that I'll lose a month of my life; it's a fair deal. Why is he acting so timid anyways? Were demons different from devils? "I can guarantee you'll come back to this moment right now but you will lose a month of your lifespan to the place _over there_."

Is this what they call a deal with the Devil? I suddenly understand why it's so hard to resist.

But it feels like a lopsided deal like I'm the one getting the better end here. I only lose a month of my life and get to have a month off? Whether this is a scam or not, it's still a month away from this place, _this life_. I have a responsibility to make it count. I can't just whittle all that time away as if it were an actual, hard-earned vacation.

"I'm okay with that," I say, nodding slightly. There's a creeping cold I hadn't noticed before, making every small movement known like they're being drawn over with a highlighter. The cold is so distracting.

The Devil seems to brighten up, the splotches growing taller, as if relieved. Then again, I don't know where I'm going. What if it isn't safe? What if I'm going to Hell for a month?

But even in Hell, I might get the chance to clear my head. That's not going to happen here unless I let myself sink into that whirlpool. Even now, I can feel it tug at my feet, willing me to collapse into a puddle. Months, maybe years, of my life, down the drain.

"I promise I'm not taking you anywhere dangerous," the devil says like he's reading my mind. "I think you'll like it there! Um.... and we kinda have to go now if that's okay. My partner's gonna ask where I am soon and..."

"I can go now."

"Then...!" And the devil reaches his hand out to me, palm up. After coming this far, I shouldn't be hesitating. A promise is a promise and if it really is binding, then running away would make it a curse.

But there's still a terrible lurch in the second before my hand takes his, the urge hanging over my head like a piano about to fall. He can probably feel it trembling a little as he says, "Don't let go of my hand until I say so, okay? And close your eyes too so you don't get too dizzy!"

I nod, tongue too dry to respond. Now the cold is suddenly replaced by a sickening wave of heat twisting around my body, heating up the tips of my ears and itching my back. Why is it so difficult to trust another person even when I know they have no choice but to listen? But isn't relying on someone unwilling only a recipe for disaster...?

"Hang on'' comes a warning by one ear and then the ground beneath me actually falls away. One arm comes around my back to steady me but the feeling of weightlessness, of falling into some never ending hole, still consumes me.

This isn't an illusion and this isn't a hallucination but my mind twists and transforms the feeling into a scene around me. Endless darkness swirling around, getting pulled deeper and deeper into a whirlpool that never ends. The dizziness becomes more suffocating...

It's hard to breathe.

The change in scents tells me we've arrived before the devil's voice does, unintelligible but clearly panicking. A cool breeze carries the scent of grass past us, a slight hint of something else that's spicy and savory tickling my nose. Before my vision becomes entirely black, one thought makes itself heard.

This place over here looks like bright, colorful splotches on an even brighter canvas. Painful.


	2. Extra: Back Then

In a corner of a bookstore, as darkness is falling, a young woman with black shoulder-length hair sits across an older woman with long, greying hair. The table they share is laden with books, folders, and scattered pages; all of them related to the store's management which seems to contain just the older woman. The rest of the store is empty, void of any people except for these two women.

In the hands of the bookstore's owner is a thin folder with sheets of papers.

"Your resume looks wonderful, Miss Paeona Floal."

The young woman being addressed blinks slowly in reply. Her expression remains unreadable, eyes distant but looking into her potential employer's eyes firmly.

Maybe it is this that shakes the older woman, who, until now, had been kind and complimentary. Her eyes are the first to fall away, uncertain. Regardless, she still holds the folder out to the young woman who closes her eyes.

A clear rejection.

"I'm sorry to reject you but I called your previous employer and she told me you caused some trouble before you quit. I don’t think you’re a bad kid but it's only me in this store..." The longer the older woman talks, the more her words grow timid and uncertain.

However, her intentions are still clear. It can’t be taken back now.

The young woman's eyes flutter open. Although her reply comes softly, those distant eyes continue looking firmly into the older woman's. "Thank you for considering me. I apologize for taking up your time."

Again, the owner hesitates, her fingers slightly pulling back the folder. What is it about this young woman that continues to challenge the image her previous employer had built? Was it the resume, concisely and clearly written, with type large enough for her weakening eyes to read? Was it her polite and solemn demeanour that suggested a refined and mature personality even after the owner's rejection? And what troublemaker volunteered for a gardening club?

However, before the older woman can make up her mind, the young woman stands, shoulder bag hanging loosely off one arm. The folder is swiftly but gently taken away.

Not a single word in protest or explanation escapes the young woman’s lips as if accepting the consequences of her past. But maybe, just slightly, there is a stiffness in the way she holds herself as if struggling to pull herself together.

"Have a good day, Mrs. Hawkinson" are the final words the young woman says before leaving the store. By the time her figure has faded into the alleyways, moonlight filters through the windows, revealing the outline of an older woman with her head in her hands.

Through the streets, the young woman walks, her back straight and hands calmly swaying at her side. That distant expression does not change corner after corner and street after street, as she climbs up the stairs of her apartment building, as she turns the key in the lock.

It does falter when the door has shut behind her, the sound of the auto-lock like a bell sounding the end of the day.

"That was the only work reference I had. Did I really make that many mistakes? Did that manager hold that much of a grudge?" The young woman mumbles to herself as she slides down against the door, bag roughly hitting the floor. Curling into herself, arms wrapped around her head, her mumbles become quieter, muffled. "It's okay. I didn't have to have that job. Maybe it’s better I didn’t if I would just mess up there too. There's still the cafe on Sixth Avenue and the theater on Ninth..."

A slight pause in a dark apartment with not a single blip of light.

"Is Mrs. Hawkinson going to be okay alone...?"


	3. Fog

When I wake up, it's to a ceiling of dark wood. Is it the mix of fading twilight, in its light purples and pinks, and the strong orange light of a lantern on the desk that turns my stomach?

"A rotten start to a vacation. Maybe this is a sign I shouldn't be here," I mutter, forcing myself to sit up. The mattress beneath me is soft, the sheets clean and comfortable. The dizziness that took me out before is still around, swirling in my stomach and making my head feel fuzzy.

"Where...?" The room I'm in looks like that of a hotel's or maybe more like that of a motel. A large leafy plant sits by the window in front and a little to the left of me with a dresser adjacent to it. A desk and a chair sit to the side. My shoulder bag is on the floor leaning against the desk while my collared shirt is hanging off the back of the chair. I look down at myself, seeing the grey t-shirt that normally hides under it. Does it look a little darker than usual?

I shake my head and immediately regret the action, losing balance even though I'm sitting in bed. Focus, I need to figure out my surroundings and then figure out what to do next. So I scan the room in its entirety and feel emotionally worse.

With dark wood walls and floors that seem to fade away into shadows, the interior feels eerie and restrictive as if the room is surrounded by darkness and something lies in wait.

"What kind of place did he bring me to?"

Was it a mistake to trust his promise? Devils are devils. If the legend is true, then why not think a devil is like a genie in a bottle, tricking its wishers? I should have expected to be duped. It was arrogant to think I could avoid the march of time.

“What am I missing? What am I doing wrong?”

Familiar uncertainty pools in my stomach like a caffeine boost even as defeat washes over me like a giant wave sneaking up on a swimmer. The need to move, to do something, swallows me up again. But it's a whirlpool I always accept.

"I can't say for sure, I can't say for sure it isn't fine. But there must be someone here who tucked me in. Let's go and apologize. I need to make up for troubling them."

Ignoring the dizziness, I toss off the sheets and swing my legs onto the floor. With socked feet, it doesn't feel too cold. The world keeps lurching as I stand and stumble across the room but I've taken tests under worse conditions and passed.

The hallway outside is just like the room inside with spots of strong orange light and swallowing darkness. Down the right end, I can see the hall split into two and down the left is a window spilling pink and purple twilight. A pressure starts to stick at the bottom of my throat.

"Where do I go from here?"

"Down the hall and to the left. The stairs will take you to Ochjel."

"I see... huh?"

The voice was light like air, the gender unknowable. Gentle and caring even if a little dull. Also somewhere to the left.

There are a few rooms before the hallway ends in a window but I never heard a door open or footsteps upon the wood. Still, there's a figure standing there and I can only describe them like an outline bathed in twilight.

Something like long flowing hair trailing on the floor. Something like loose clothing hanging off them as if they were barely there. And something like one hand raised, pointing down the hall. All of it is transparent, the dark wood and lantern in view as if they weren't there.

Through unfocused eyes, I can’t understand their appearance.

The face that turns towards me has an expression I can't see. I can't even make out the mouth as it says, "Ochjel will send you back to bed."

 _So go back to bed_ is what they seem to say.

"I'd like to hear those words from them myself," I murmur before turning in the direction they pointed. "Thank you."

If it isn't good to overstay your welcome and you don't know how long that welcome extends, then you only know you're unwanted when you ask personally. Therefore, ask.

Still, I feel a little bad for snubbing them.

But being purposefully misled before has taught me to ask upfront. Though am I being a hypocrite when I'm walking a path someone else has set?

The pressure of the cloying darkness and nausea from the strong orange lanterns do not fade away. Rather, I feel more and more a cold rising in my body or was it always there? Without thinking, I swipe a palm across my neck and feel moisture. Did I sweat while sleeping? Do the sheets need to be changed?

A squeak of the floorboards brings my gaze from my feet to a figure ahead. When did my vision get so hazy? Has it always been? All I see ahead is a brown smudge against a darkly orange background but as they get closer, I see...

...a feline walking on two legs dressed in a yukata? The figure is hazy even up close but the triangular smudges atop that head are surely like that of a cat's ears. Those paws may be hiding within their sleeves but the crooked splotches walking on the floor has to be like that of a cat walking on two legs.

While I'm still unsure of what kind of creature I've come across, they call out to me in a masculine voice, soft and soothing like that of a late-night radio host, "How rare to have a human guest around these parts. Enjoy your stay."

I nod dumbly and pass them by.

"The place over here really is different..."

Different in appearance and different in character? Hold on, why am I only now realizing this when I've already met a person with a natural tail and horns and another who was just outlines? I should have guessed the "place over there" referred to a place with beings that weren't human...

And what a weird way to call it. Just what is "the place over there" supposed to mean?

Strange, strange, I'm not normally so slow. Maybe this dizziness and sickening cold freezing even the fog in my head shouldn't be ignored. Should I turn back after all-?

A familiar scent suddenly sticks out to me as I reach the stairs heading down a floor. How could I not notice it until it was too strong not to tell? Spicy and savory like a warm and heavy stew, a soothing scent, but when...?

The sight that greets me at the bottom of the stairs appears to be a short hall that gives way to an inn's front desk at the right and a small room for diners at the left. Directly next to me are tall doors which probably lead to the kitchen.

With plenty of windows along the walls, I can clearly see night has already descended. Strong moonlight shows the outside is nothing but darkly-green rolling hills. The countryside?

When thinking about the "place over there," I would have thought there'd be hellfire and craggly rocks all around. Did I happen to end up in Heaven instead?

"I was just about to check on you." An impassive voice, self-assured and firm, suddenly addresses me from the side. The doors must have been well-oiled because, when I turn, a figure with a large body of bland brown splotches and long purple strokes escaping out the sides and top is suddenly there in the doorway. They tower over me with not a squeak or footstep to warn me. "How are you feeling? Mr. Erive was worried when you suddenly collapsed."

My mind must be too slow to comprehend because my reply comes smoothly, "I'm okay... uhm, I heard Ochjel was your name. I apologize for the trouble. Is there anything I can do to make up for it?"

"I can't ask a guest to help out. A guest's responsibility is to relax." Whenever the figure speaks, the purple strokes on top of its head seem to vibrate slightly. Although not human-sized, they still have a human-enough form for me to tell heads from toes. Just when I've thought that, one of the long purple strokes reaches towards me like the tentacle of an octopus. "Your eyes look hazy for a human's. Are you sure you're well?"

Before I can respond at all, either to flinch away from the tentacle or give a straight reply, more of the tentacles extend as the form shifts and somehow straightens up more.

"Are you talking crazy from a fever? You're not okay at all." A coldness touches my forehead and it feels so nice. More tentacles wrap around my body and pull me off my feet. From the way my body hangs in the air, nestled against cool mass, am I being carried bridal-style? "You're burning up so much I can tell from six feet away. You are absolutely going back to bed."

I want to deny their words but the authority in their voice stops me. I've met plenty of people who won't budge once that note enters their voice. Besides, this person must own the place as well. There is no point in going against their orders.

"Grange! Pause what you're doing and help me for a second-"

Their words seem to melt away in noise and warmth. My ears, my nose, and my sense of touch still work but a darkness descends like fog. Just a last phrase echoes before being swallowed up.

“I understand what this guest may be thinking now.”

Almost comforting but not at all, almost like tunnel vision and definitely that, my mind makes my body move on autopilot as it swallows medicine and stew, allows itself to be dressed in new clothes and tucked into bed like a doll, and answers, "Paelona", "Yes, thank you", and "Okay, good night. I'm sorry".

Oh, that familiar savory and spicy scent had been mixed with grass before. It was from just after I'd arrived.


	4. Fog and Flowers

A young woman with shoulder-length hair stands in a lively, viridian field that stretches to the horizon all around. Small dandelions are scattered around, some resting atop her worn sneakers. Other patches of flowers stand tall within reach, each a vibrant shade of colors and species. She wears a long-sleeved black collared shirt buttoned all the way up and dark jeans that look well-kept. There isn't a wrinkle, stain, or hole to be seen in each. Her expression is unreadable, eyes distant, as they look into the distance.

_A young woman with shoulder-length hair is asleep in bed, the sheets carefully drawn up to her chin. Her breathing is stilted as if experiencing a bad dream. She murmurs soft words in her sleep that can barely be heard._

"Is that fog coming back again?"

The young woman mutters, eyes watching as the horizon is slowly swallowed up by curling black fog. Surely if she does not run or create some source of light, the fog will swallow her up too, leaving her in eternal darkness. But she stands there a few seconds longer before sitting down. Her decision to wait for the end has been made.

"It's fine. It happens."

In the meantime, she plucks a small flower from a tall pile by her side. The small peony in her hands is a soft pink with a gentle fragrance and she closes her eyes to take in the scent. A corner of her lips move just a bit. The fog in the distance is deceptively far but, in these few minutes, it has already eaten away at hundreds of miles.

"Whether it's here or not, I can still smell the flowers."

A multicolored cluster of poppies also lay within hand's reach. The one the young woman selects is a bright orange poppy and it smells just as bright and sweet. A genuine but small smile touches her lips. The fog has already consumed enough of the land that she could reach out her hand and touch it too.

"It's okay. I still have the flowers."

The young woman does not open her eyes as the fog swallows her and eventually leaves her behind in darkness. When she does, only the poppy remains in view, her fingers hidden by tendrils of fog. But its color is now darkened and faded, a poor memory of its former brightness. The scent is slowly disappearing too even though she used to remain for hours by her side.

"...Maybe I'm not."

_Some hours later, the young woman stirs from sleep. Without much hesitation, she forces herself to sit up. Her breaths come as restrained wheezes and her eyes are unfocused and hazy. Her grey t-shirt appears slightly damp. However, because of her usually dull appearance which never seems to let anything out, she looks put-together for the worse._

_The young woman mutters to herself, words almost too quiet and slurred to be heard. Eventually, she stumbles out of bed and totters out of the room. In the corner, left behind, is a black collared shirt hanging off the back of a chair and a shoulder bag leaning against the legs of a desk._

_Outside the second-floor window, a faint outline of a person with long hair can be seen. They seemed to have been sitting on a protruding ledge along the outer walls, legs swinging to and fro, as they watched the sun set in the distance. Now though, they stand and walk through the walls, disappearing from sight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These extras jump around time! So sometimes they're in the future, the past, or the present.

**Author's Note:**

> I try to make each chapter final but once the story's finished I'll probably make final edits  
> Gonna try Monday updates but I'm technically writing two chapters a week so.


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